


9:17 on a Thursday

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Meet-Cute, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: Stiles is in a really, really terrible mood. He’s allowed, okay, it’s been a shit week.





	9:17 on a Thursday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleDetails87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDetails87/gifts).



> So! I am back, and posting at weird times because I collected prompts from friends of mine, and am filling them as gifts this holiday season. This one is for a good friend, who made me write meet-cute for the first time. 
> 
> Thanks go to DenaCeleste for the speedy beta, and happy holidays, everyone!

 

 

Stiles is in a really, really terrible mood. He’s allowed, okay, it’s been a shit week. His hours at work got slashed, the latest rounds of lab work prove that his dad’s been cheating on his diet, and the very last thing he wants to be doing at 8:52pm on a Thursday is go to the grocery store, but it’s either this or starve. So.

He grabs a cart—because if he’s here, he’s gonna do an entire round of shopping, he’s not coming back to this hellscape any time soon if he can help it—and plows through the store as fast as possible. Fresh produce, bread, sliced turkey, cheese, non-fat yogourt, granola, eggs, unsalted butter, rice, pasta, peanut butter, soup, more soup, crackers, a bag of chips that he’ll eat in the car because Dad’s not allowed to have any, not after his latest cholesterol reading, and—

His cart slams into someone else’s, and it feels like his brain rattles inside his skull. Before his bones have stopped reverberating, he gets an arrogant, “Would it kill you to pay the slightest bit of attention to where you’re going?”

He’s so pissed that he doesn’t process the significance of the words. Instead, he glares at the hot asshole who rammed into him. (No, he wasn’t looking where he was going, he was staring at the shelves, but this was not all his fault. It _wasn’t_.) When he catches sight of what’s in Hot Asshole’s cart, his jaw drops in horror.

It’s stuffed with eggs, meat, bacon, three sticks of butter, full-fat sour cream, meat, chips and pre-packaged snacks, more meat, and oh my god, is that _lard_? “Are you trying to eat yourself into a fucking heart attack? None of this is okay! You are old enough to know better!”

There’s a long silence. Long enough for him to realize that screaming at a stranger about their eating habits is maybe not appropriate. Before he chokes down enough of his pride to apologize, the hot stranger smiles at him. It’s not exactly a friendly smile. “There you are.”

He has no idea what that’s supposed to mean, and he’s even more confused when Hot Asshole moves toward him, and doesn’t stop until he has very much breached Stiles’s Personal Space Bubble. “Uh?”

“You’re late.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but every word is bitten off, sharp.

He doesn’t understand. “Do I know you?”

He doesn’t know what he expects in response to that, but the Hot, now-angry, Asshole gripping his jaw with both hands to plant a kiss on him isn’t it. Of course, once their lips touch, he understands.

Soulmates.

He can feel it in his every nerve ending singing a Hallelujah chorus, in the way he wants to laugh and cry and collapse and drag his soulmate to bed and introduce the guy to his dad all at the same time. For a long moment, there’s nothing else in the world but the man his soul claims as _mine-mine-mine_. When the moment passes, though, he realizes what he said.

“So, uh. You had that?”

His soulmate pulls back far enough to smirk. It’s as sexy as it is infuriating. “I learned my curse words early.”

“Whoops?”

“Mhm. What do you say we forget about grocery shopping, and go get something to eat?”

Stiles grins, carding his fingers through the hair at the base of his soulmate’s neck. “I’d love to, on one condition.”

He gets another raised eyebrow, and his soulmate pressing their hip way closer than is appropriate in public at 9:17 on a Thursday night. “And what might that be?”

“I probably shouldn’t keep thinking of you as ‘Hot Asshole’, so could you tell me your name?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I [Tumbl](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/).


End file.
